Tell Me
by JupiterDelphinus
Summary: Trish was nursing a glass of red wine and sitting on her couch. The TV was on, though what it was playing she couldn't say. Her mind wandered this way and that, to Jessica, to work, to her next interview, to what she would eat for dinner, to Jessica. To Jessica. To Jessica. (DUBCON) - - - Part two posted: Wanting
1. Trish

Trish was nursing a glass of red wine and sitting on her couch. The TV was on, though what it was playing she couldn't say. Her mind wandered this way and that, to Jessica, to work, to her next interview, to what she would eat for dinner, to Jessica. To Jessica. To Jessica. Jessica who she hadn't heard from in months. Jessica who had practically dropped off the face of the Earth. Jessica who had up and left her. She squeezed hard at the durable glass in her hand, and took a sip of her drink. If it had been Jessica's hand, the glass would have shattered. But it wasn't Jessica's hand, it was Trish's. It always would be. And while Trish would like to dream of Jessica's hand removing the wine glass from her fingers, setting it onto the coffee table and looking into her eyes with those deep, sad greens, kissing her with those chapped lips, that too was something that would never happen. Not with Trish. Not with Jessica.

The knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. She set down the glass and rubbed at her brow. She had been scowling, and she could practically hear her mother's voice scolding her for it. The knock came again, and it hit Trish with force who was at the door. She knew that knock. And she knew why the doorman had let the person up to her loft. It was Jessica. It had to be because no one else knocks like they're going to break your door down at ten at night. Not even the police knock with such verve. Or, Trish didn't think they would. She wouldn't rightly know. The pounding came again, and Trish stood quick to answer the door, and frowned.

The door. Jessica was at the door. She paused, looked towards the glass doors of the balcony, then back to the sturdy wood of the door, not that either could serve as a barrier to Jessica. The only thing was, Jessica hated the doorman. Jessica never came through the lobby, had excused it once with the doorman being a creep. Trish thought Jessica just liked to fly. But now Jessica was at the door, which meant she had come up through the lobby. Which was something very un-Jessica-like. She pounded again, and Trish decided it didn't matter how Jessica came to her, not after all this time. She rushed to the door and pulled it open to see Jessica's back. She had been leaving.

"Jess," Trish breathed. There was no denying the girl. For a moment, Trish thought she might have been dreaming, or assuming too much from the simple knock on the door. She had longed for a while to open the door to find Jessica on the other side, and now that she was here, it was almost too good to be true. She turned around slowly, and there was something haunted in her. Something wrong. Trish could see it.

"Trish…" She muttered, and she was crying. Jessica Jones didn't cry. Not ever. Trish grabbed her by the wrist and she let out a sob. "Trish…" She said again, and it was the warmth of Jessica in Trish's hand that grounded the blonde.

"It doesn't matter, Jess. None of it matters," She said. Something had happened, was happening to Jessica, but as long as she had come home, Trish didn't see the problem. They could talk later. Or not. Jessica wasn't much one for talking either.

"Trish," Jessica said again, stronger through her tears.

"Is that all you can say after all this time," Trish teased, "My name?"

She led Jessica to the couch, sat her down, and walked to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. She figured the best thing that she could do was act like everything was normal, she could handle whatever else later. Whatever else when Jessica felt like it. For now, normal. Although things with Jessica Jones were never normal to begin with. Things with Jessica Jones could never be normal, but whatever had happened, she was back. Back with Trish. Back for Trish to support and care for and love. And love. Love so much.

She exhaled, the anxiety and nervousness about Jessica's situation falling away. So she had disappeared for a few months. So she hadn't called. Or texted. Or talked. It didn't matter right now. All that mattered right now was that Jessica was back. The rest would be dealt with at a later time. For now, Trish wanted to enjoy the company of her sister, of her best friend, of her everything.

She turned around to bring Jessica her water, and almost spilled the glass. "Jesus, Jess," She said. The woman had snuck up behind her while she had been filling the glass. She chuckled. Jessica didn't. Jessica didn't make a snarky remark. Jessica didn't smile. Jessica didn't apologize. Jessica took the glass from her hand, their fingers grazing. Trish watched as she placed the glass on the counter behind her. She looked up at her, looking into those sad, deep green eyes and Trish was struck with déjà vu. Hadn't she just had this day dream?

But then Jessica was kissing her, and Trish was struck with the sudden realization that this wasn't Jessica. It wasn't Jessica because Jessica would never kiss her. Never kiss her. As much as Trish wanted her to, Jessica was too afraid and too this and too that and all the excuses she had given herself and given Trish were running through her head while those soft, soft lips were kissing her own and she was kissing back and it was everything. It was everything.

And it wasn't Jessica.

Trish pulled away and looked at her. Something was wrong, because Jessica was wearing clothes she couldn't afford, wearing makeup she'd never wear. Her lips were too soft, not at all the bitten and chapped things Trish knew them to be. Even her touches lacked the weight that usually came with them. She was soft, and Jessica Jones was never soft. She took a step back, and her breathing came faster when Jessica followed her.

"Trish," Jessica said, and there was a fight happening that Trish couldn't see. What she could see were Jessica's clenched fists, her painfully furrowed brow, the coiling of muscles that could do so much. "Trish, please."

The sudden realization that Jessica could hurt her washed over Trish like an ice bath. The fear followed soon after. But Jessica would never hurt her. Never. She took another step back. Jessica followed, and she was scared. She was so scared because there was something going on that she didn't understand and what she knew and what she was seeing were two different things. What she wanted and what she knew to be right were two different things as well. It wasn't Jessica, but it was. She could see the want etched over every inch of Jessica's face. Jessica's face, and unless there were shapeshifters running amok in New York, this was Jessica Jones wanting her. But the way she moved, the way she was, that wasn't Jessica. Not any Jessica that Trish had ever known.

And what Trish wanted was Jessica. Wanted what Jessica-Not-Jessica was offering. Or…demanding. What Jessica-Not-Jessica was going to take. And the fear washed over her again. But Trish knew it wasn't right. Knew something wasn't right. So she turned from her friend and walked away, only to be stopped short by a strong grip on her forearm. A little too strong. It was Jessica, and it would bruise.

"Jess," Trish said, level. Panicking would get her nowhere. "Jess, don't."

That should have been enough. Trish was the only thing in the world that Jessica truly cared about, and she knew it. But the grip on her arm tightened, and she had to swallow down the whimper from the pain. Jessica tugged at her, and she turned to face the girl again.

"Trish…" Jessica said, and it sounded so much like it hurt her. Like her very name was killing her. Was hurting her as much as the grip on Trish's arm was hurting her. "Trish…I love you."

And Jessica let go. And now, now there was no doubt at all. It wasn't Jessica.

But that human inside of Trish, it wanted to bask in those words. Because it hadn't been meant in a friendly way. Jessica was in love with her. And she was in love with Jessica. And Jessica had finally kissed her. The fight happening in her was too great. Something was so, so beyond wrong and something else felt so, so beyond right.

Jessica stepped closer, and the idea that Jessica would never hurt her fled from Trish's mind. Jessica could. Jessica could break her like a twig. And this Jessica, whatever this Jessica was, would, if Trish didn't give in to what was happening. What she wanted to happen. What she had wanted to happen for ages only not like this. Not whatever was happening here.

"Tell me," Trish said, and even she wasn't sure what she expected to hear.

"I have to have you," Jessica whispered, "I have to. Don't…I don't want to hurt you."

And it made no sense, but this time when Jessica kissed her, she didn't pull away. She could taste the salt of her tears against her lips, and Jessica was apologizing. She was apologizing as she looped her hands under Trish's thighs and lifted her like she was nothing. As she kissed the breath and the gasps from Trish's lips, moving to the bedroom. And soon, it was all Trish was hearing. It was sick. Wrong. Something twisted that Trish couldn't understand and she wanted to vomit because Jessica's hands were soft on her abdomen, lifting her blouse up and over her head, not bothering with the buttons. And the way Jessica looked at her was with reverence, but it was like she was fighting herself. She kept apologizing.

Trish was lost in sensation. Those strong, strong, too strong hands moving so gently across her skin were setting her on fire. She had wanted, had waited, but hearing the murmured apologies and feeling Jessica's tears fall to her exposed skin was so many things and she couldn't think because this Jessica, this body of Jessica was touching her. Was slowly unclasping the bra from her body and slipping it down her arms. The lips of Jessica had moved from her lips, descending down to her neck. Trish gasped as she felt her teeth, felt her suck, felt the mark that was going to be visible for a long time forming and her hips canted with and against her will.

Jessica dragged her lips and her nose in feather-light touches down her neck, tickling her collarbone. And as her lips descended a little further to the place above Trish's pounding heart, her hands were working on the button of her slacks. Trish's hands tangled in that black, black hair as those too-soft-to-be-Jessica's lips encased her nipple and sucked. She let out a moan. Jessica apologized, but didn't stop. She kissed and teased at Trish, her tongue and teeth stimulating her and setting her nerves on edge because it felt so good and so bad all at once. But this was Jessica and not Jessica and Trish was crying because it was beyond wonderful.

Teeth nibbled at her chest. "Jess…" she groaned. And all at once her pants and underwear were off at the fast and strong hands of Jessica and a palm was touching her where she had always wanted it to. And God, it felt amazing. Jessica's lips on her body, Jessica's hand on her heat, it was all too much and whatever thing in Trish that had realized this wasn't right, that this was wrong, that this wasn't Jessica fled her because this was so right and this was Jessica worshiping her body and it was amazing.

She canted her hips up into Jessica's hand and groaned at the not-enough friction. Jessica's kisses to her chest got harsher, sloppier, more sure to leave bruises and Trish felt like Jessica was losing control and it made her soar. Jessica was losing control over Trish. Over Trish's body and Trish's desire which she had no doubt Jessica was more than aware of with her hand where it was.

"Trish…" she said again, pained. "Trish I'm sorry.

"Jess…Jessica, please," Trish said, delirious on the sensation of finally, finally being touched by the woman she loved so much. Even if it wasn't the woman at all. With the plea fallen from her lips, Jessica was in her and Trish let out a high-pitched gasp. She stilled her fingers, and Trish felt the tears again on her stomach, where Jessica's head was shaking a constant 'no' into her sternum. But she didn't have to tell Jessica it was okay, or to keep going, because in the next moment Jessica was pistoning into her hard and fast and it was more than Trish had ever had. More than Trish had ever dreamed.

Her breathing was coming fast, little gasps and groans falling from her lips as Jessica curled her fingers, finding the spot inside her that made her back arch. A thumb found her clit and all of a sudden it wasn't gasps and groans, but swears and proclamations. Because God, and Jessica, and Fuck it was So Good and Yes and More and Don't Stop.

And Jessica didn't. Jessica pushed hard and fast and almost before Trish had time to relish it, she could feel the buildup in the base of her stomach, branching out to her legs, her back, arching and blinding her with pleasure and Jessica, noticing, just pushed harder. It would bruise.

Trish came with Jessica's name on her lips, her back high off the bed and the delirium of it washing over her hard and fast. She collapsed a few moments later, smiling, basking in the pleasure, in the feel of Jessica still in her, but then she wasn't. Then she was gone, gone from within her and gone from her body and Trish blinked her eyes open and Jessica was just standing there. Standing there and looking disgusted and riddled with remorse and fear and Trish remembered then. It was sobering, and she sat up, pulled her knees to her chest, and pulled the blankets over her exposed body. Because no matter how much she had wanted this, had always wanted this, this wasn't Jessica.

Tears sprang to her eyes and fell quickly, and the flood of emotions from the orgasm and from Jessica and now from this was overwhelming.

Suddenly, Trish felt like she hadn't had a choice in the matter at all.

"I'm sorry," Jessica said, "I'm so sorry." And she fled.

Trish was left naked, alone in bed, with the taste of Jessica on her lips and the smell of them littering the sheets. Jessica was gone, and Trish was alone once more. Alone with the feeling like had she said no, Jessica would have taken her against her will. She didn't know if her consent made it better or worse. She didn't know if she had been raped. She didn't know how Jessica felt. She didn't even know if that was Jessica. She rubbed at the bruise quickly forming on her wrist, felt the ache in her bones, in her muscles. She knew she loved her, knew she would never stop loving her, but whatever had just happened was twisted them together with something black and not right. The feeling of it all confusing everything. Still, one thing hadn't changed through the whole ordeal.

She was in love with Jessica Jones.


	2. Jessica

_Jessica? Listen to me._

It started how it always started, because if she didn't hear him, didn't listen to him, he couldn't do anything. But the command lasted twelve hours and he never went twelve hours without saying it. Jessica wished sometimes to deafen herself, if only to escape from this Hell. And with what she had a feeling he was going to do, to save others from it as well.

 _Go to Trish's apartment._

She had gotten up to go almost immediately. It was a folly, but his command wasn't precise and that voice in the back of her mind-her voice-was always, always screaming at her and her mind sometimes couldn't work fast enough to find a loophole, to find a way around what he had told her. To find some way out of this. Away from him. Away from herself. Away from it all.

 _Not yet! God, do I have to tell you everything?_

She was so far past being able to be catty. She was so far past saying that he wouldn't have to if he let her go. That with the way she was now, it was only him to blame if her traitorous body displeased him in any way. She wanted to vomit. She didn't.

 _Go to Trish's apartment. Knock on the door._

He had gone on and on, telling her what to do. She was on the street the moment he finished. She fought the address that came to mind. Tried the entire walk to listen to her own voice screaming in the back of her head that she couldn't do this, that this wasn't right, that she didn't want to do this. Of course that was the issue, wasn't it? Every word from his poisonous, killing lips made her want to. And the voice in the back of her head was a screaming animal in a cage and there was nothing it could do, because somewhere in the back of her mind where her voice was, the vague memory arose that it wasn't just Kilgrave's Jessica that had wanted this. It was her own person too. It made her sick. She threw up on some man's shiny shoes. He was displeased. She didn't give a fuck. The only thing she cared about was the order. And the time limit.

 _Go to Trish's apartment. Knock on the door._

She could practically hear the venom in his voice. That seeping, oozing black thing that rested in his breath and in his vocal chords. In his stench. And this time it had sounded so much like petty, disgusting jealousy that it hurt her. She had fought the words, but he had asked and asked and there was nothing she could do against telling him the truth. Nothing she could ever do. The time limit sang in her veins, her need, her want screamed at her. She ran the rest of the short distance to Trish's. The distance was nothing.

"Miss Jones!" the doorman had said. She hadn't replied. Simply walked right past him and gotten in the elevator.

 _Knock on the door._

That's what he had said, and the walk over had given her a little time to try to work around the orders. To listen to the screaming in the back of her head, in the sound of herself, and find the loophole. So she went to Trish's front door, not the glass one like she always had. Maybe then, maybe that would have been warning enough. Maybe that would be strange enough. The elevator dinged, she walked with purpose to the door she used to live behind.

 _Knock on the door. Make sure she hears you._

She had wanted to tap lightly. To never, ever get past the barrier protecting Trish from herself. Or not herself but it was all so fucked and mixed up and nothing was right and everything was right. She knew she didn't want to, but she did. She did. So she knocked. Pounded, really, and if she had hit the door any harder it would have probably come off its hinges. The first knock heeded no results. Her voice screamed that there was no way Trish couldn't have heard it. The other her screamed back that maybe she hadn't. So she pounded again. Again, she tried to pull away. She had to have heard. Even if she was asleep there was no sleeping through a knock like that. Again, that command rang in her head because what if Trish hadn't heard her.

A third time and the loudest yet. She stood a moment. Nothing.

 _When she lets you in,_

That's what he had said.

 _When she lets you in,_

There was no clause for if Trish didn't let her in. She could go. The rest of the order moot now that Trish wasn't letting her in. She could have cried in relief. That screaming voice in the back of her head figuring a simple, simple way out of it. She'd go back, and bear the brunt of his fury. He'd make her do horrible things to herself, to her body, with him, and maybe he'd forget all about it. Or maybe it would be worse. Maybe he'd send her back with orders of violence. It didn't matter. It was a risk, and it was the only thing to do. She turned her back and began to walk back down the hall because

 _When she lets you in,_

And then she heard the door click open and God Damn everything because the orders now clicked into place and she wanted, wanted, wanted. And she didn't.

"Jess," She heard Trish breath, and she turned around slowly, not even aware that she was crying and she wanted. But she hadn't been let in just yet. She hadn't, she hadn't. The door had been open to her but she had not been let in.

"Trish…" she choked out, and it sounded foreign. Not her voice. She wanted to beg, to scream, to tell her not to let her in. All of a sudden, she felt the touch of another human being for the first time in months. Trish's touch. And it was simple. A hand on her arm, gentle and given, not taken. "Trish…" she said again.

And then Trish did the exact wrong thing. Did the unthinkable. She pulled Jessica towards her, towards the door. The two or three steps Jessica had gotten away were lost. Just like that. All her hard work. All her determination. All her weaving through all these things and avoiding his intention. His damned intention. But it didn't matter because she wanted to be let in. Just like he had said. "It doesn't matter, Jess. None of it matters," Trish said.

But it did matter because then she was over the threshold and the next desire took hold. The voice in her head was screaming, was the cause for the tears on her face. And the voice was strong, but he was stronger and she couldn't fight. "Trish," She said as she was sat down on the couch. Trish turned away just before Jessica had time to grab her again. Her body taking just that moment too long to catch up to Kilgrave's order.

"Is that all you can say after all this time? My name?" Trish joked. It rang like a sitcom in Jessica's head. Like a dream of a dream. Like this banter, like this snarky thing that they had had once upon a time was just a fairytale.

 _When she lets you in, kiss her._

Jessica followed Trish to the kitchen. Took the water from her hand. And kissed her just as beautifully and gently as she had always wanted to. Or was it Kilgrave who had wanted her to. It felt like the desire had been there for forever. For always. Jessica kissed her and it was beautiful and Trish tasted like red wine and salt. It was everything. And nothing. Not right. Not right it would never be right because the voice was screaming and for all her muscle, her damn brain just wasn't strong enough.

And then Trish pulled away, and they entered into dangerous territory because Jessica had wants, orders, wants. Wants that she had to fulfil. She clenched every muscle in her body. Trying to fight everything in her. Her lips longed to be doing something else, to be kissing and kissing and never stop kissing Trish like she was a Goddess among men. Like she was everything, because she was. Because all Jessica could do was make it pleasurable.

"Trish…" she ground out, her teeth clenching, "Trish, please."

She watched Trish take a step back. She watched herself take a step forward.

 _After you kiss her,_

Trish turned and tried to walk away, but Jessica grabbed her. Grabbed her a little too hard and Jessica's eyes could see the fear, the pain, but Jessica's body didn't care. She wanted. Oh how she wanted and the longer she was with Trish the more confused it all became. At first it was just him, now the voice was screaming not to hurt her. Just don't hurt her. And the memory was iced over and foggy but she wanted. Didn't she? Not to hurt, but she wanted. Wanted Trish.

"Jess," Trish said, the pain in her voice stabbing fresh at a heart that no longer belonged to Jessica Jones, "Jess, don't."

But she had to. She had to. And she wanted to but not like this. Trish turned away. Jessica yanked her back and this time the pain was clear because Trish whimpered and the next command rang in her ears, rang and rang. And she wanted to. But didn't. But only not like this. The words ripped their way out of her throat like sandpaper. Rubbing her throat raw and she was crying. "Trish…" She fought, but she couldn't. They weren't her words, they were, and it would be awful for Trish to hear them like this. Even if she didn't know what was going on. Even if she did.

 _After you kiss her, tell her the truth. Tell her what you told me._

And his damned, damned intention because she had told him so many things she'd never told anyone, not even Trish. But she knew, she knew what he had meant and she fought it, fought the words, fought to tell Trish anything but the thing he wanted. It wasn't fair. It was vague. She tried to tell Trish about the time she had broken some kid's nose for talking bad about Trish. Tried to tell her about the car accident. Tried to tell her about how it was her fault. Tried to tell Trish how much she had wanted to kill Dorothy. About all the times she had come close but his intention. His intention. His intention.

"Trish…I love you." And she let go. And Trish just stood there. And her next want, her next unshakable desire washed over her and she wanted so badly it hurt.

 _Fuck her._

She took a step closer. Fuck. A violent word and the intention…he meant have sex. That is what he meant. He meant have sex with her.

 _Fuck her._

She shook like a leaf. Moving closer and closer and she could smell Trish's overpriced perfumes. It was a violent command. But he had meant fuck in the modern usage of sex. Fuck didn't have to be rough. It didn't. It didn't. It didn't. It meant have sex and oh she wanted to, and she didn't want to. She did. She did, God and Trish was beautiful, even laced with fear.

"Tell me," Trish said, so softly, and her voice was soothing. Like the ocean. Because it wasn't a no and a no meant…

 _Fuck her._

"I have to have you," Jessica whispered. It was the truth, and she didn't know if it was her or if it was Kilgrave. "I have to. Don't…I don't want to hurt you," Jessica managed, and she kissed her again and the euphoric relief of doing what she wanted to do so badly washed over her and Trish was just kissing her and kissing her back. And then the voice screamed at her so loudly.

"I'm sorry," She said, and she lifted Trish like the feather she was and moved her to her bedroom. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," And every breath from her lips and ever gentle caress of her hand was followed by an apology and the tears shone bright like stars on Trish's skin. She didn't want to. She did want to. She had always and never wanted to and Trish's gasps were like music to her ears because Trish wanted to. But Trish didn't. Not this way.

Jessica lifted Trish's shirt up and off. Removed the bra, and went to kiss her way down the smooth expanse of Trish's neck.

 _And make sure she remembers it._

She bit. Hard. Sucked harder at the skin because she doubted Trish would ever forget this but his intention was clear. His intention. She knew what he wanted. And as she left a bruise that would last and last. She was strong. She cried, and cried harder when Trish gasped, and her hips lifted against her own and it hurt. It hurt and it felt so amazing and Jessica didn't know anything anymore. It felt too amazing to just be Kilgrave, but it was. It was. It was.

She moved her way gently down Trish's chest and collarbone, kissing the frantic beat of her heart and then it was back.

 _Fuck her. And make sure she remembers it._

Jessica's hands were frantic at the button of Trish's slacks and her lips sucked and tugged at a nipple and Trish gasped, and Jessica apologized. Had never stopped apologizing, because it was entirely possible that it was the only thing that was really her anymore. The apologies and the tears.

"Jess…" Trish groaned.

 _Fuck her. And make sure she remembers it._

Jessica bit and nibbled at Trish's chest, little hickies forming and it was like she was drunk. She was drunk because her hand went to Trish and she was God, so wet, and her hips arched into her palm and God, God, God. Her lips were sloppy and her breath was ragged and Trish was just everything and it was killing her inside. Killing her.

"Trish," She said. All she could do. "Trish I'm sorry."

And then Trish begged. "Jess…Jessica, please."

And she was in her and it was heaven. It was heaven and she started slow because it didn't have to hurt. It didn't it didn't it didn't. And Trish was making those noises that Jessica had always thought she would make. Little soft gasps and quiet groans and the feel of Trish's hands on her shoulders was ecstasy and the feeling of her skin on Jessica's lips was making her head swim. And then she curled her fingers and Trish was making noises Jessica had never thought of.

"God," She said. Jessica curled her fingers again.

"Jessica!" and that one was more like a plea.

"Fuck. Fuck!" And it was amazing because she was swearing.

"So good," a groan.

"More," And she went harder, faster. Bruising for someone like Trish.

"Don't stop," and now Jessica knew it had to hurt. It had to. But maybe that made it better and she had always dreamed of this. Always wanted this. Or had she? And she was still apologizing. Would never stop apologizing, and then Trish came and Jessica could feel it around her fingers and the arch of her back was stunning. She couldn't stop looking. And it was with Jessica's name. With Jessica's name. But it wasn't Jessica's want, and it was.

" _Tell me the truth, Jessica, do you want to fuck her?"_

" _Yes."_

The memory scalded her like a brand, and she pulled away from Trish like she was toxic. Because she was. She was a walking death warrant and Trish was lucky and so unlucky that this was all he had asked of her. He knew this would hurt her more.

" _Does she love you?"_

" _Yes."_

And Trish curled in on herself, looking like she had been broken into so many pieces. Jessica could feel the disgust on her face. She didn't know if Trish knew it wasn't her, but was Jessica. She was disgusted with herself.

" _Do you love her?"_

" _Yes."_

Trish was crying. "I'm sorry," Jessica said, "I'm so sorry."

 _When you're done with her, come right back. Make sure it only takes one hour there and back. At most._

It would take her five minutes to get back to him, leaving her with just a few to spare. She had to get back to him. She wanted to get back to him. She ran.

 _Oh and Jessica? I forbid you from telling her anything about me, anything about why you're doing this, anything contradictory to what I want, or anything that could lead her back here, do I make myself clear? Tell her nothing._

But she had told Trish something.

She had told Trish she was sorry.


End file.
